


Blind Trust

by Caladenia



Category: Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst with a Happy Ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-29
Updated: 2018-03-17
Packaged: 2019-03-10 23:39:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 8
Words: 20,688
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13512171
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caladenia/pseuds/Caladenia
Summary: A sequel to Reversal. Seska makes contact with Chakotay and all hell break loose.





	1. Miss me?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [purpledog](https://archiveofourown.org/users/purpledog/gifts).



> This story will make much more sense if you read Reversal first at http://archiveofourown.org/works/9076432/chapters/20639605 
> 
> My greatest thanks to my betas: Helen8462, Mia Cooper and a very helpful young lady who shall remain anonymous. 
> 
> Please note there is a rape/non-con scene in Chapter 4.

* * *

 

Wonica’s gaze is focusing everywhere but on me. “Captain,” he utters with a loud cough.

His companion has his back to me. He staggers forward, then regains his balance and swivels to stand at attention. His eyes too avoid mine.

“At ease, crewmen,” I say in what I hope sounds like my normal command voice

“You want to inspect our work, Ma’am,” O’Donnell says, hands clutched behind his back.

The mountains of muscles in front of me look like they’ve just seen their worst nightmare.

I put my hand up, glad to see it‘s not shaking. “This is not an inspection. Lt Torres told me you’re still having a problem with the wastewater pump,” I explain. “She said you think the ingress pipe is the trouble.”

The two men have been ostracised by everyone since what I’ve come to call the Maquis experiment ended, only ten days ago. I can’t order the rest of the crew to befriend them, but I want to ease their comeback into Voyager life for when they finally leave the protection of the brig.

They too are part of my crew. I simply can’t let them suffer the consequences of what they did to me for the remainder of our long journey home. As to following Seska, let’s say they are not the only ones who succumbed to her duplicity.

Wonica relaxes his stance, obviously reassured I am not a threat.

“Yes, Captain. We’ve rebuilt the isomagnetic pump, checked all the assembly lines and recalibrated the molecular extraction system. All is working perfectly, but the efficiency is way below what it should be.”

He walks up to the diagnostics screen and brings up a graph showing the output percentage steadily decreasing over time.

“We think there is a blockage in the ingress pipe at the last bend. It’s the only portion of the entire plant which is not easily accessible.“ He points to the reinforced ceiling above our heads.

“I see.” Not really, but then I’m no expert in waste and recycling systems. “I trust your judgement. So, what’s the plan?”

I’m glad the two men have put a lot of effort into what is – in reality – their punishment for being too eager to use their fists rather than their brains.

“Take the plant offline and pull the deck above to pieces so we can access the bend and replace the whole length of pipe. It’s a big task because many of the ship’s utilities run through the ceiling.”

O’Donnell leans over my shoulder to show me the plant schematics and very nearly makes me jump. “We’ll also have to realign the valves. Taking them offline for more than a day will muck up the compression rings. If not, we’ll have another problem in six months’ time, and frankly, we’ve just about had it with this place,” he adds.

He straightens up. “Sorry, Captain. Not my place to say.”

“I completely understand, O’Donnell. I am sure you don’t want to be back here if you can avoid it.”

I hold his gaze for a few seconds. He nods, curtly.

“I see why Lt Torres isn’t too keen on dismantling the entire deck.” I scrutinise the schematics, rotating the screen to see if there is a better access to the ceiling pipe.

Our reserves of water and food are dwindling fast, and while the recycler plant is not a vital part of the ship, without it we will use more energy to replicate those essential items. Dilithium is already at a premium as it’s hardly a surprise that the maps Culluh gave Chakotay have proven less than reliable in finding good sources of ore.

But I can’t leave this region of space without destroying what’s on board Culluh’s ship, so obtaining dilithium and food take second place to locating the Kazon-Nistrim. Like the two men in front of me, the Starfleet-designed torpedoes that Seska has secreted on board the Kazon ship are my responsibility. I just can’t forsake them.

“There’s a quicker solution,” I say, enlarging the offending section on the screen with two fingers. “The internal diameter of the pipe looks about right, and the closest access valve is on the mezzanine floor, not far from the bend.”

I take my uniform jacket off. Wonica glances at me, an eyebrow up. Then a wide smile comes on him. If he dared, I think he would slap me on the back.

Five hours and a short sonic shower later, I reflect on the unlikely impact my decision to crawl through a never-ending length of smelly, slippery, dark and narrow pipe has had on the two men who almost succeeded in killing me. As well as the cause of the blockage, we’ve found new grounds for mutual respect this afternoon and made our peace. In return, I can now face them and Deck 15 with equanimity, and we’ve saved a few tonnes of dilithium from going to waste, so to speak.

A good result for everybody involved.

I’d love to tell Chakotay over breakfast of my less-than-orthodox method in dealing with crew morale, while he reveals B’Elanna’s latest opinion on Starfleet maintenance schedules. Chakotay and I are finding our way around each other slowly, and our combined crew is doing the same, one day at a time. 

But that morning the foe I’ve been chasing since coming back on the bridge returns to taunt us, pushing us headlong into a murky future where trust becomes the first casualty.

**###**

_Hello, Chakotay._

 

The message flashes on the private console in the darkness of my quarters.

 

_Miss me?_

 

There’s no audio and no visual, but I know who’s talking to me, a reminder the past always has a way of catching up with me.

 

_Wondering what I’ve been doing? Or have you been too busy holding Janeway’s hand?_

More posts trickle in over the next days, a few lines at a time no doubt to avoid detection.

_The great Maquis leader serves under a Starfleet captain. What a waste!_

 

They are urgent, demanding, their author confident I will do as she says and follow her.

_But it seems you’ve got second thoughts. You aren’t very imaginative encrypting your personal logs. And, boy, do they make for fascinating reading. Let me see if I can recall some of the more juicy bits from the past few: ‘Janeway is not listening to me. She’s too interested in keeping to her sacred Starfleet principles.’_

_Can’t say I didn’t see that one coming._

_Or this one: ‘This quadrant is made for people who know how to fight quick and dirty. This is what I do best. I made a big mistake bowing to Janeway’s terms. I don’t belong here.’_

_Perhaps, I’ve misjudged you, after all._

_Be my guest, get B’Elanna to try and find out the carrier wave I’m using. But ask yourself, Chakotay, do you really want to? Because I’ve got a proposition for you._

_Come back to who you really are, Chakotay, and bring me what I want._

**###**

Thus begins my betrayal, first officer turning against captain, mutual respect collapsing under my repeated attacks. The rest of the crew stands aghast as I destroy our newly fledged alliance with the recklessness of a rogue starship.

We keep our worst for the bridge. Over the next few days, spurred by Seska’s words from across space, I shape ammunition from slurs and contempt while the captain reinforces her walls with the Starfleet rulebook.

 

“ _You’ve exceeded your daily allocation of holodeck time by more than three hours, Chakotay. Care to explain?”_

_“Nice boots, but they aren’t Starfleet issue I believe.”_

_“The Alpha shift starts too early for you, Commander? Should I remind you what the Maquis’ lack of discipline got us into?”_

_“Starfleet protocols exist for a reason. You are my first officer. Bring yourself to apply them.”_

_“Your dissatisfaction with my orders is duly noted once again, Commander, but I am the captain. I expect you to follow my orders.”_

_“Request to disembark denied, Chakotay. What you will do is remind yourself you are on a Starfleet vessel and start behaving like a Starfleet officer. Dismissed.”_

_“What was that brawl about in the mess hall? I won’t tolerate my first officer picking a fight with the ship’s pilot. You’ve gone too far this time. Tuvok, please show the Commander to the brig before he hits somebody else.”_

A week after Seska’s contacted me, and all is ready for my hasty departure.

**###**

“We should stop meeting like this. The crew will begin to talk.” I ease myself in the command chair of the Baxial.

“I can assure you that nobody knows we are meeting, Captain. You are still in sickbay where the Doctor is impersonating you, discussing your food intake, or lack of. As for me, I am meditating in my quarters,” Tuvok answers.

My Vulcan friend is sitting down at the helm to avoid the low ceiling, his profile a dark line against the gloomy space.

Those very few who know of Seska contacting Chakotay are reduced to using paper notes, or meeting in the strangest locations for rare face-to-face talks.

The Baxial is the only place that’s not linked to Voyager’s computer system. Everywhere else is a no-go zone as far as confidential conversation are concerned. We are pretty certain Seska has visual access to only a few areas, maybe just the bridge, but the multitude of PADDs, consoles and sensors that crowd the ship are another matter completely.

“Yes, of course. My apologies. It was a bad joke. Hanging around in Voyager’s bowels is something I thought I’d left behind me.”

There’s no way we can disable Seska’s hacking program without also severing our only link to the Kazon ship, so we make our plans out of the reach of her prying ears, and without the knowledge of most on board. I am less than happy about the need for deception when the crew is still raw and edgy over the events of the first two months of our arrival in the Delta quadrant.

But we’ve been unable to find Culluh’s ship. If the mountain will not come to me, I must go to it, guided by a ruthless Cardassian. It is a breakthrough I can’t afford to ignore.

Tuvok’s silence breaks through my thoughts. “Is the shuttle ready?” I ask.

He nods. “The tracer is embedded in the hull matrix itself. Quite impossible to detect with Kazon technology.”

“Good. Unless they blast the shuttle, you’ll be able to know where the Kazon ship is located. This could give you a tactical advantage if Culluh decides to come after Voyager.”

He remains silent, his back too rigid, his eyes too intent on meeting mine.

“What’s worrying you, old friend?” I ask, putting my hand on his arm.

With Seska potentially listening to our every word on the ship and time running out, he has not been able to fully advise me. There are quite a few gaping holes in that plan of mine, especially around getting back to Voyager, but the stakes are too important to think too much about that.

“Your abduction is not required for the plan to succeed. Lieutenant Torres is the more logical choice to accompany Commander Chakotay.”

He is not touching on his main disquiet, and for that I am grateful.

“Torres is needed on Voyager. I know her methods are unorthodox, but they are effective. It would send the wrong message to the rest of the crew to ask her to go.”

Tuvok’s eyebrow rises, a sign I am not giving him the response he wants.

“Ultimately, I am the one responsible for the protocol breach those torpedoes represent. I was the one who gave Chakotay the chance to take over Voyager, and in doing so, I basically helped Seska deliver the weapon schematics to the Kazon-Nistrim.”

The consequences of her treachery are something I can’t let out of my mind.

“Your reasoning in this particular instance is flawed, Captain. The circumstances were highly—”

“It doesn’t matter.” I want to pace my anger away, but the Baxial deck has limited space to do so. “The fact remains that the Kazon-Nistrim are running loose with Starfleet weapons on board their ship. I can’t let that continue. Not on my watch.”

Tuvok nods his agreement. “The facts are hard to refute. However, being a Cardassian, Seska may see through your subterfuge. She is skilled at deceit as she has proven to us already, and she also knows both Maquis and Starfleet tactics.”

“It’s a risk we’ll have to take. There are a few things that should work in our favour. She needs help to make those torpedoes work otherwise she wouldn’t have called on Chakotay to bring a weapon expert with him. I also don’t think she has had the time to get Culluh’s full confidence as yet. The Kazon are not renowned for trusting women. We can capitalise on those points.”

And improvise on the others, because I suspect this is going to be one rough ride, but I don’t tell Tuvok that. He is not a strong believer in gut feelings.

“How’s Chakotay?” I ask instead.

“Lt Torres came in to talk to him when I was leaving the brig. It is fortunate for the Commander that the force field of his cell only lets through Klingon insults,” Tuvok says.

I smile at his attempt to lighten my mood, even though Torres’ reaction to Chakotay’s deception is no laughing matter.

I loathe to leave her in the dark, but the fewer people know what we intend to do, the better. We don’t know for certain if there aren’t any of Seska’s sympathisers remaining on Voyager. Her abrupt departure might have pushed them in the background, and news of her reappearance have to wait.

“This whole affair is taking its toll, but it can’t be helped. Once we are on the Kazon ship and you’ve shut down Seska’s link to Voyager, you’ll be able to tell the senior staff what’s going on, so there are no more misunderstandings.”

I get up, keeping my head low although I’m unlikely to bump into the ship ceiling. “For now, we need to see the second part of the plan to its end. Are Paris and Ayala ready?”

“They assure me they will make the Commander’s escape very believable.”

“In that case, I’ll continue to play my part. It’s time for me to go and visit Chakotay. Good luck, my friend.”

 


	2. About Face

I shove Ayala in my cell and re-energise the forcefield behind him while keeping my grip on the captain. The corridor is empty. I make a run for it, Janeway hardly slowing me down. The escape of Voyager’s first officer is well underway if Seska’s listening.

Next thing I know, the side of my chest explodes and my left shoulder crashes into the nearest wall. All I can hear is the crunching noise of Janeway’s head slamming into the bulkhead, and a feeling of déjà vu fills me with dread. This is not how my breakout was supposed to happen. Ten minutes into the plan, and already something’s gone wrong. 

Wonica pushes himself off the floor, glaring. “Let go of the captain, Chakotay,” he orders me.

If he’s here, his pal can’t be too far away.

I lift Ayala’s phaser against Janeway's temple while sliding my other hand down to let her speak. “Captain, for your own sake, you better deal with them before somebody gets hurt.”

“Wonica, O'Donnell, step away,” Janeway says with a rasp. “I'll be fine.”

Wonica’s got a deadly look in his eyes. Behind him, O’Donnell moves from the shadows, shaking his long arms. “Ma’am, you give us the word, we take him,” he says.

Janeway stands a bit straighter, her hands pulling on my arm. “Stand down, crewmen. That's an order.”

Those two are a menace even when unarmed. I know, I trained them. They are looking for a fight, but they retreat after a few seconds, making me wonder why they obey Janeway so readily.

This is not the time to chat though. I slide with my back to the wall until I reach the nearest Jefferies tube. Now I’ve got a problem—I can’t open the hatch and hold those two gorillas at bay without letting Janeway go. They’ve already let me know they don’t trust me, and with Seska eavesdropping everywhere, explanations as to what I’m doing are out.

Their grins broaden. They move to cut off both ends of the corridor, thinking me cornered. Then the Captain sags in my arm, and before the two men can react, I turn the phaser on them and stun them both. Opening the access hatch takes only a few seconds, and I start my descent to the shuttle bay, carrying Janeway over the shoulder.

The shuttle is waiting as planned. The ramp vibrates under my heavy footfalls. I slam the emergency door lock, then lay the Captain on the shuttle floor. Her head lolls in my hand, but I can’t stop. With all the commotion, I’ve cut my escape rather close

The shields should be down in four, three, two… Dropping into the chair at the helm, I blast the shuttle bay door with a well-directed phaser beam and engage the engines. Once out of the bay, I quickly enter the coordinates Seska gave me into the navigation computer. Voyager is slow to react to my quick getaway and does not follow when the shuttle goes to warp, hurtling the captain and me into Culluh’s hands.

A moan tells me Janeway is coming about. After engaging the autopilot, I rush to the prone figure behind me. There is a swollen contusion running from her hairline to just above the left ear, a thin trail of blood following the curve of her jaw.

Bile rises in my mouth. The first phase of my escape has almost ended in disaster as if the whole mission wasn’t dicey enough.

I did argue that Torres was the expert Seska wanted, but Janeway pulled rank over me. She is more knowledgeable of Starfleet torpedoes, she jotted down on a napkin I picked up surreptitiously from her table in the mess hall while we were overtly fighting each other.

I suspect there are other underlying motives for Janeway to come with me that we’ve had neither the time nor the opportunity to air in the open. Motives which make me wary of how we’ll deal with what awaits us. I am not looking forward to setting foot on Culluh’s ship with nothing more than a plan hastily put together by a single-minded captain.

As Janeway comes out of her daze, I put a finger to her lips and I hope my small smile conveys my regrets at what I’ve put her through. Her hand squeezes mine, a silent encouragement to go on with our ruse, in case Seska has also bugged the shuttle.

“What is this all about, Commander?” she asks, as she pushes herself up.

“Sorry for abducting you, Captain,” I say in a mocking voice while helping her sit up. “I had a better chance of making it out alive with you as my hostage.”

“Return me to Voyager immediately and you might avoid a court-martial.” She leans against the shuttle bulkhead, as I rummage around for the shuttle medical kit.

“Isn’t that a kind offer,” I say, dripping sarcasm, “but I’m afraid it’s a bit late for that. An old friend of mine asked me a favour. You might remember her...”

Gently holding her chin, I turn the dermal regenerator while telling what she already knows about Seska.

“…so, I strongly suggest you do what I tell you. You are used to that after all, aren’t you Starfleet?”

Her jaw stiffens under my fingers as the echo of my careless and hurtful words resonates within the confines of the shuttle.

For fear of breaking my cover, I ignore her reaction.

“You don’t intimidate me, Chakotay. Your actions speak of a long familiarity at deception.”

The angry-red swelling fades after a few passes of the medical device. She puts her hand on my arm to stop me before the last bruises disappear. It’s a battle of wills she wins without a word. I nod my understanding – I can’t be seen to be too soft on the captain of a ship I’ve betrayed once more.

Worry lines remain on her face when I take my uniform top off and move the regenerator over my ribs and shoulder, before getting dressed again. All the while, we continue cutting into each other with vicious words and scornful tones of voice, an unceasing week of hostility making us both old hands at pretence.

At the end of the first day of our make-believe falling out, I collapsed in my quarters exhausted beyond measure, wondering how long I could maintain the facade of a turn-coat, a defector who would abandon his people and ship at the drop of a hat to chase after a Cardassian woman who has deceived him once already. When I agreed to Janeway’s plan, I had not thought of the consequences of living and breathing that role with no respite in sight.

But the key to our plan was to make our fight bitterly personal -- the first officer pitted against the captain, the Maquis renegade against the Starfleet scion, Chakotay against Janeway. I felt sick every time I lunged at her, but there was too much at stake to shake off our parts too early.

The following day it got less difficult. I found I could bring back to the surface some of the reasons and motives which I had held up like a shield as justifications to take over Voyager not that long ago. I grew back into the part of the man who lives only for the next good fight, the rebel unable to settle because he’s tasted the heat of battle for too long to become second fiddle to a protocol-bound Starfleet captain.

I can only assume it is easier for Janeway. She does not have to dig deep to keep to her role of the by-the-book officer. Once I made her aware of Seska’s first message, the only thing she could see was the opportunity to get her hands on those damn Starfleet torpedoes.

Whether my performance will convince Seska remains to be seen. That she contacted me in the first place and has brought me here speaks volumes for her desperation. But she is a shrewd and dangerous operator, always keeping an ace up her sleeve, and with no compunction in using her guiles to get what she wants.

I end my escalating war of words with Janeway by gagging her as if tired of listening to her tirade, and binding her hands and feet. She blinks, letting me know she’s fine and I settle her as comfortably as possible on the seats at the back of the shuttle.

We’re close to our destination. All we can do now is wait for the Kazon to make a move.

**###**

I wake with a start at the sound of harsh words, struggling against my binds until I remember where I am. A Kazon vessel I know all too well has appeared against the blackness of space, and the comms fill with orders to enter the ship’s cargo bay. The time of reckoning has arrived and the next few minutes will tell if our plan has worked.

As soon as the engines are powered down, half a dozen Kazon rush in, phasers drawn. Chakotay unties my legs and forces me upright, not too gently. Out of the airlock, I come face-to-face with Seska. Her Bajoran disguise has started to dissolve into what I assume are her original Cardassian features. It isn’t pretty.

She goes pale when she sees me. I glare back, but she’s already facing Chakotay.

“Why bring her here?” she hisses, clearly less than impressed at my presence.

My first officer pushes me into the arms of the nearest Kazon. “What? No ‘hello Chakotay, I’m so glad to see you. How was your trip?’”

Ignoring the phasers pointed at him, he plants a bruising kiss on his former lover’s lips.

A small butterfly flutters in my stomach. He’s taking improvisation to a new level. So far, we've followed the script we worked on together. Me, the righteous captain who can’t bend the rules, him making quite a show of seeking a new life away from Starfleet constraints and an XO he clearly despises. It was a simple plan, playing on Seska’s innate Cardassian antipathy of anything Federation. But from now on, Chakotay is on his own.

Out of the corner of my eyes, I see Culluh striding in. Chakotay breaks up his embrace and turns towards him, his hand sliding down Seska’s back. “Maje Culluh,” he says with a nod.

It’s like watching two bulls in rut, sizing each other up. Fingers twitch on the trigger of many Kazon sidearms.

“Up to your old tricks again, Maquis. Seska said you were eager to turn your back on the Federation ship, but I didn't believe her.”

Chakotay’s shoulders relax. “I’ve toed the Starfleet line for the last time, I can assure you, Maje.”

“So, the little altercation between our two ships was…?” Culluh asks, his smile rigid.

“An error of judgement on my part, Maje. I took you as a second-rate chieftain of a second-rate Kazon sect. I thought your demands were just … posturing. I misunderstood your claims to Voyager’s technology for thievery.”

“Second-rate chief! Thievery!” Culluh rushes to Chakotay who takes a step back.

Suicide by enemy fire, I think it’s called. My first officer is treading much too close to the truth, and even Seska looks at him askance. I ponder Chakotay’s tactics to alienate so early in the piece the very same man we’ve come to mislead. Is he seeking to avoid putting his captain in the firing line before I’ve achieved what I came for, or is there some madness behind his method? I rue the lack of time and opportunity to hone the details of our plan.

“I didn’t know then of your far-reaching ambitions, Maje.” Chakotay’s whole body language has changed in a couple of seconds. His shoulders dip, his head tilts in a gesture of respect – a soldier recognising the worth of his new master.

“Seska was kind enough to spell them out for me. I find them compelling and worthy of a great leader.”

He is good. Very good. He’s playing Culluh’s arrogance and self-delusion like a master, striking just the right notes of flattery to reel him in, telling the Kazon exactly what he craves to hear.

I wonder how often Chakotay has used the same tactic during his time as a Maquis leader. And who has been most recently on the receiving end of his roguish charm.

Culluh’s face is half a foot away from Chakotay’s. “My grandfather built the Nistrim into one of the strongest sects among the Kazon. Under my rule, we will regain our territory and conquer those of our neighbours, making them bow to me.”

Seska has moved to Culluh’s side and turns to Chakotay, her voice unctuous. “Maje Culluh wants to demonstrate the might of his new weapons to the other sects. Once they see what the damage the torpedoes can do, their first majes will beg Jal Culluh to become their leader, their Prime Maje.”

That’s what she told Chakotay in her secret messages, and it confirms what Neelix has heard from his own sources. Culluh is dreaming big, clearly fuelled by Seska’s own ambition. I can’t let the Starfleet weapons bolster his dangerous delusions and upset the balance of power in this region of space. It would be a disaster, as damnable in my books as breaking the Prime Directive.

Seska snaps her fingers and the Kazon who is holding me jolts me forward. “See, Maje,” she says, “Chakotay has brought you the best expert Voyager’s got—Janeway herself.”

Culluh acknowledges my presence with an annoyed smirk. “I’ve heard that she’s the captain now. What do you say to that, Maquis?”

“Another weakness of the Federation, Maje, letting women take the lead, but it suited me at the time. I needed the Starfleet crew to keep the ship going and frankly, I was getting tired of watching my back all the time. I gave her the pretence she was on top again.”

“While she was under you all that time?” Culluh says, sniggering at his innuendo.  

An easy smile comes to Chakotay. He’s very lucky I can’t wipe it off his face.

“She’ll do as you order to protect her precious ship.” He tears my gag away. “You will make those torpedoes work, like the good girl you are,” he says to me, a finger under my chin.

“You are unworthy of a Starfleet uniform, Chakotay,” I spit out.

“It was never my intention to wear one for very long, Captain.” He gives me one of his dimply smiles before stepping back at Seska’s side.

“I see why you wanted to leave Voyager, Chakotay. The women from your quadrant are out of control.” Culluh laughs, the Kazon mob with him.

I notice Seska’s frown. As I had surmised, not all is rosy between those two. It is Chakotay’s role to put a wedge between them, and he is taken his assignment to heart so far.

“The demonstration is in a week’s time, Federation. Make sure the torpedoes are ready in two days.” Culluh turns and leaves, still smirking.

“Check the shuttle for a tracking device,” Seska orders, waving at a couple of men.

Chakotay objects. “You don’t trust me? I’ve come to you with what you wanted. Isn’t that proof enough of my good intentions?”

Seska’s ridges on her forehead poke from beneath the smooth skin of her Bajoran disguise. “There is the little thing about me being a Cardassian, your sworn enemy.”

“Oh, that?” Chakotay shrugs. "Who cares, Seska? The Maquis cause is well and truly dead. The Cardassians are no longer mine to fight.”

“So that’s why you finally got all chummy with Starfleet?” she asks.

I hold my breath. Will Seska believe Chakotay’s turned? Nothing like a traitor to think all people have got a price.

“I won’t lie to you. Yes, I had a moment of weakness, but Janeway’s insistence on playing the Starfleet tune grew stale pretty quick. I want a new beginning.”

He puts an arm around her shoulders. “With you.”

I’ve got to hand it to him. He would have me fooled.

Seska’s body stiffens at first, then she relaxes. “You,” she points at the Kazon who is holding me. “Throw Janeway in a cell. I’ll come for her later.”

The guard pushes me into a darkened corridor. I glance behind me. Chakotay is murmuring something in Seska’s ear, his hand firmly clasping her backside.

I hear them laugh.

 


	3. Delenda est Carthago

It’s only ten minutes since two surly guards snapped handcuffs on my wrists and shoved me along until we arrived at the weapon’s hold. Seska comes and goes in a flash, ordering the men to stay sharp and directing me to get the torpedoes to work. I was expecting more dramatics, but she seems distracted and is almost civil.

I wonder what, or who, has caused this change in behaviour, but I am happy to oblige her. That’s why I’m here for.

Once the handcuffs are off, I get rid of my uniform jacket. The ship’s engine room is not far, and the heat weaves its way through the deck, leaving everything warm and sticky.

I open the case of the first torpedo and trace the connections from the payload back to the panel on the side. As much as I despise the woman, Seska has done a decent job manufacturing the six weapons lying at my feet, with only the original blueprints and one replicator to help. But after all, a torpedo is only a tube, with the explosive at one end, the rest crammed with the fuel needed to get it to its target and thick cables impervious to most disrupting fields. We are not talking about a delicate warp core here.

While my fingers do most of the work, I wonder what Chakotay is doing at this same moment. I have not seen him since his winning performance on our arrival on the Kazon ship. Outside of Voyager’s familiar walls, doubts trail into my mind, murmurs of Maquis tricks and guile feeding my misgivings about a plan quickly drawn up before we could build a solid foundation of trust between the two of us.

_Tell me about yourself_ , I asked my first officer when he found me alone in Voyager’s mess hall one evening.

He had tracked me there to sign off a pile of PADDs and we ended up sharing a late meal, a rare respite from the frantic first few days of my on-again captaincy.

I had busied myself in hunting down any clues of where Culluh and Seska had disappeared, Starfleet weapons with them, leaving the task of blending the Starfleet and Maquis crews to my newly appointed first officer. Our respective jobs had not left us any time to talk after that evening in my quarters, barely a week before, when our ranks had done a three-sixty-degree flip, with me regaining command, and him accepting to serve under me with good grace.

I should have made that time. I should have made getting to know him better my first priority.

_I’ve read your file, but it hardly told me anything of the man behind the Maquis leader_ , I said, picking through one of Neelix’ unique dishes. I was no longer starving so I could be selective about what landed on my plate.

_Yes, Starfleet files don’t seem to contain much of what is important_ , he chuckled, watching his own choice of meal with concern. _I’ve read yours too_ , he added, looking at me, fork in the air. _I know you came from science and moved to the command track. What made you switch?_

_Maybe another time, Commander._

_Captain’s privilege?_ he said, dimple in full view.

_Something like that_ , I remember mumbling.

So, he indulged me with a smile and a soft voice. He told me of a happy childhood among a gentle and thoughtful people, of a wise father teaching him the lay of the land and the ways of the spirits, all part of an ancient culture I knew nothing about.

His tales fascinated me. Our dinner lengthened as the stars rushed by outside, the only tangible sign of the long journey stretched ahead of us. I got up and cleared the table of our now empty plates, coming back with my cup refilled and a hot tea for him.

_What about you?_ he asked, sipping the brew.

_Starfleet born and bred, I’m afraid. Nothing terribly interesting to tell about my childhood._

There had never been a time when I had not wanted to follow in my father’s footsteps and enter Starfleet. My parents’ support was undeniable, and my main childhood set back had been to lose a tennis tournament. Hardly worth mentioning.

_What made you leave your home planet?_ I ask instead.

I heard of his dreams of going to the stars, his rebellion against his people and father’s hopes, his early years in Starfleet, the constant struggle to belong as he straddles two worlds. I knew of his impeccable record at the Academy and as an officer. There had been many who had expressed dismay at his decision to resign his commission.

As the evening wore on, I found myself unable to reconcile the softly-spoken but determined man with the brutal usurper who had cast me and my crew aside. If it had not been for his drive to fight for what he saw as a better cause and his unwavering loyalty to his people, he would have made a fine Starfleet captain.

I move onto the second torpedo. For some reasons, the wiring configuration of that weapon is different. Seska must have used Kazon labour for this one, and it shows.

Time passes slowly as I check every single link. I didn’t realise how much Klingon I’d learned from B’Elanna Torres when I was working under her. It’s a powerful language and I make full use of its harsh intonation and robust imagery under my breath.

Chakotay’s tone changed when recounting how his home planet became a pawn in the hands of indifferent superpowers, followed by his resignation from Starfleet and defection to the Maquis. It was not difficult to sense he is a man torn apart by his loyalties. He made the only decision he could make while still remaining true to his own beliefs—support his people against the ever-rushing waves of Cardassian attacks. And if that meant going against Starfleet, he fully understood the price to pay.

By the third torpedo, I’m getting into a routine. The cables jump at me and my fingers mindlessly unwind the braids one by one, testing all junctions. I am down to my grey tank, blinking the sweat away. My stomach grumbles.

For a while, talking to me with passion, Chakotay was on the Val Jean once again, telling me about his motley crew, proud of what they’ve become. He is a natural leader, strong of mind and learned in many skills and teachings. He is used to taking his own counsel and choosing his own path, and there lies the source of my disquiet.

Does he resent what I am binding him to? Three scores and ten years of responsibilities to one ship and one mission only. The weight of it all wakes me up in the middle of the night, full of dread, even as I talk so confidently to the crew of getting them home as quickly as possible. I can only wonder how I would feel if I had been handed such a life sentence because of somebody else’s decision, as rightful it had seemed at the time. Somebody whose heart and soul belongs to an organisation who declared him an outlaw.

The entrails of torpedo four shimmer in front of me.

Even as I hope Chakotay’s words to Culluh were simple lies, they imply he’s at least thought of the consequences of working under me. He has indeed tasted Starfleet principles and found them wanting when his people, then his crew, called to him.

Torpedo five is fine.

I can lean on those same principles to guide me, as inflexible and at times unsuited to our situation as they are, but he still has the freedom to choose. In truth, I can see there’s very little to hold him to Voyager. His former comrades, the ones he sought to protect at the price of giving Federation technology to the Kazon, are now finding their way as part of a Starfleet crew. The cause he gave his loyalty to is no longer a constant in his life, his need to fight his people’s enemy not as compelling anymore. But I suspect his choices in life, from leaving his birth planet to abandoning a bright career, speak of a restlessness I’ll never be able to assuage. My attempt at finding him a role commensurate with his experience and valour might not be enough to settle him at my side when more alluring alternatives beckon.

For some unfathomable reason, I find that prospect difficult to bear.

I rest my hand against the case of torpedo number six, beads of sweat stinging the corner of my eyes. A whack between the shoulders and I slam face first into the steel case in front of me.

“Back to work, Federation.”

I push myself off the warm metal. One of the Kazon guards is standing close, the butt of his phaser rifle held high, goading me to submission. He is not happy watching over a female, and an alien one at that.

I ignore him as I move to the wall, checking the weapons’ interface with the Kazon computer. That’s the part I’ve planned for days now, rehearsing in my head how to fool the guidance system and get the torpedoes to slam into oblivion, taking Culluh’s dream down with them.

An hour later and I know what stumped Seska. The Kazon computer system is too far removed from Federation technology for the torpedoes to operate as intended. Without a fully functional interface, throwing darts at enemy ships will be more useful than using the inert torpedoes lying at my feet. It was a possibility I had envisaged from the start, but I needed to be sure. It means the scenario Chakotay and I had been working on is useless, but life in the Delta quadrant was not meant to be easy and I’ve got to bite the bullet.

“Fetch Seska,” I say, closing the door to the control box.

The Kazon looks at me, hesitant.

“She would want to know as soon as possible that I’ve finished, don’t you think?” I snap.

The guard nearest the door gets the threat. He leaves in a hurry.

Ten minutes later, Chakotay strides in the room, wearing a Kazon outfit with a distinctive dash of Maquis fashion thrown in, the size of the man domineering in the leather jacket, large belt and dyed trousers.

My heart sinks. I had fooled myself into thinking Chakotay tamed and safe when he’d volunteered to don a Starfleet uniform. I had irrationally chosen to forget how menacing he looked and behaved when in Maquis clothing.

Or maybe not so much forgotten as dismissed altogether, lulled by a late conversation and a captaincy regained much too easily, before Seska reappeared in his life like a jack-out-the-box.

Tuvok’s words come back to me, uttered when I offered Chakotay his command pips the first time. _‘You are putting much trust in an unproven command partnership, Captain_. _’_

I have yet to meet a person who can drill into my failings with as much accuracy as Tuvok.

My tactical officer was not doubting Chakotay’s combat skills. He also understood the efficacy of having a Maquis at my side to help lead Voyager. Tuvok was questioning my wisdom to trust the man, and the events which followed soon after proved him right.

My stupidity at making the same mistake twice leaves a bad taste in my mouth.

**###**

“Starfleet,” I drawl.

“Where’s Seska?” Kathryn wipes her mouth and looks surprised at the smear of blood on her hand. Her tank top is damp with sweat and streaked with grime.

“None of your concern. You want to talk to her? You talk to me.”

“There’s nothing wrong with the torpedoes,” she says.

So far so good. I relax my stance. We’ve passed the second hurdle of the plan we developed on Voyager in fits and bursts, handing each other quick notes as we outwardly clashed.

“The interface with the Kazon ship is the problem,” she continues to my surprise and growing dismay. “There are too many systems to integrate—navigation, target acquisition, abort programs, failsafe systems, telemetry. The replicator killed two of Culluh’s men before Engineering made it work for him, but this is on a totally different scale.”

I keep very still. Janeway’s words aren’t part of the script. She was supposed to sabotage the torpedoes so they would go off target the first time Culluh uses them. The idea from the start had been to make him wary of utilising unreliable Starfleet technology. Not a difficult task given his experience with what we installed on his ship has been less than stellar. Seska must have been the one who forced him to try to use the torpedoes, and we thought we could use that fact to our advantage. It was actually my idea if I remember well.

Now the captain has abandoned the plan and done an about-face. Or has she?

The Starfleet torpedoes have been about the only subject of discussion since she’s been back on Voyager’s bridge. She’s had every sensor recalibrated, every rumour followed, every space rock turned over for signs of the Kazon ship with the fated weapons in its hold. Was rendering the torpedoes unusable her plan all along just to make sure he would never use them? Did she sabotage the computer interface? I don’t know what to think anymore.

“You better make them work, for your own sake.” I come closer, my greater height casting a shadow between us.

She tips her head up. “They. Won’t. Work.” Her eyes narrow. “Maquis.”

Instead of telling her tales of my past, observing the graceful way she put her chin on her hand, watching her eyes sparkle in the dimness of the mess hall late in the gamma shift; instead of losing my thoughts when she smiled, I should have learnt more about how her mind works because I can’t believe she’s changed the plan from under my feet.

“Culluh could decide to go after Voyager, board it and use it as his flagship instead. Is that what you want?”

She shrugs. “Tuvok has his orders.”

What orders are they, exactly? Because if Culluh wants Voyager, he will get it. Seska knows all our vulnerabilities.

I try another tack. “Without those torpedoes, the Nistrim will fall, and us with them. “

“Yes.” Her gaze locks onto mine. Like that day on the bridge when she stood up to me, I see no hesitation, no willingness to bow down.

Our positions on the Kazon ship are holding by a thread. Seska wants something from me, although I have no doubt that she’ll dispose of me without a qualm if she’s forced to choose between her former lover and Culluh. Her survival is linked to the Nistrim Maje’s ambition and he is counting on the Starfleet weapons to deliver his empire.

Janeway’s usefulness, on the other hand, is entirely dependent on the torpedoes looking like they will work until the last minute. If she gives up too early, she’ll become fodder for Culluh’s troops, with Seska watching from the sideline.

Is Janeway one of those fanatic captains who prefer to die than stray one inch from the Starfleet rule book? And what of Voyager’s crew then? I can’t believe she would condemn them too.

One of the guards lifts his phaser, ready to punish Janeway’s impudence. I push her aside and stand in her place. The man is not willing to test his luck hitting Seska’s pet and living to tell the tale. He retreats, scowling.

“I will inform Seska. Guards, put Janeway back in her cell, and feed her something. We still need her.”

I ignore the dark looks coming my way from both Janeway and the Kazon.

I contemplate the neatly aligned torpedoes long after they’ve left the room. I need to think of a way to reverse the mess which ultimately is of my own making.

Somewhere along the thin line between expediency and moral certitude, I lost my way and it took a small, indomitable Starfleet captain to remind me of what I really believe in. I tell myself that Janeway hasn’t seen her people attacked by the Cardassians and listened to the weak excuses spelled out by a Federation advocating doing very little. She hasn’t been chased across countless of systems by starships intent in capturing or obliterating her crew.

Yet, the situation Voyager has found itself is eerily similar but she hasn’t budged from what she believes to be the right path. Starfleet principles are clear, as she reminded me several times early in my mutiny before I threw her off the bridge. She would never have allowed Federation technology to be used by the Kazon like I did. And while the end was the same, to get home, I erred in employing any means at my disposal to make it so.

There is something else lurking beneath Janeway’s straight-back composure and fast-tracked Starfleet career. Something she divulged only once when I cornered her at her most vulnerable. Something I thought my pep talk that evening when I gave her back the captaincy had laid to rest.

Her guilt at stranding the crew is her Achilles’ heel and it is not that difficult to guess her orders to Tuvok were to leave us behind.

I kick the torpedo closest to me and the bell-like sound echoes in the large space.

I am missing a part of the puzzle that is Kathryn Janeway. She is Starfleet above all, born and bred, as she said. There is another order she must have given to Tuvok to ensure Culluh will never get his hands on more Starfleet technology. I see it all clearly now. She’s given him the self-destruct command sequence and ordered him to blow Voyager up if the Kazon-Nistrim goe after the Federation ship.

There must be another way. I refuse to have her death and that of Voyager crew on my hands.

 


	4. Dead-End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Be warned, this chapter contains a non-con scene.

* * *

Seska slams the torpedo hatch close, her face showing only fury. The firework she was putting the latest touches to is now fizzling down to nothing. Her hands are splayed over the case, the knuckles white. There’s none of the bluster she showed when we arrived on Culluh’s ship.

“You two, haul that bitch back here.” My guard dog hesitates then follows Seska’s chaperon, leaving us alone in the weapon hold.

“Putting a phaser to Janeway’s head is hardly going to make those torpedoes work any better. She just confirmed what you knew already.”

“I’m not a bloody Starfleet weapons technician, Chakotay. I thought I’d made a mistake somewhere, misread the schematics or something.”

“The Seska I know would already have had a backup plan in place.” And I would very much like to hear about it.

“I can always present him with Janeway’s head on a platter,” she says, snarling.

“He won’t stop at her. How long do you think I’ll survive? Or you for that matter?” I’ve got to get her off this trip of hers of taking revenge on Janeway.

“Don’t you think I know that? It was my idea to use the Starfleet weapons to impress the other sects, and I put my neck on the line contacting you to make them work.”

She whirls around to face me. “But what do you do? You bring along the only person who’s mad enough to tell it all in front of Culluh’s men. The Starfleet weapons bought me protection and passage on this ship, and I won’t let Janeway off the hook that easily. It’s her problem to work out.”

“It's too late for that.”

I rake my brain for a solution, anything which will distract Seska and postpone Janeway’s fate. A simple enough exercise I would have thought, but for the fact the one woman I am trying to protect seems so intent on throwing herself at death’s feet. It may be the Starfleet way, but in the Maquis, we learnt quickly that surviving to fight another battle was more important than committing suicide.

Seska sniggers. “Then she’d better hurry. As you said, it’s in your interest to… "

A predatory smile comes to her lips, her face distorted into twisting shadows of her former self that repulses me now.

“What?” I ask.

“She’s got chutzpah, that little human female, I must admit, and you’ve always liked strong women.”

She comes closer and I can’t help move back a step. A mistake I realise when I see her eyes narrow.

“Janeway’s got nothing on you.” My response is about as lame as my body language.

Seska is playing with the lapel of my leather jacket. “I wondered about that of course, that evening when you ordered her in your quarters.”

I tense up under her touch. She laughs. “Oh, don’t fly away, Chakotay. Do you really think I’m jealous of a Starfleet? You’ve got needs and she was there for the taking, wasn't she.”

Spirits, she thinks I forced myself on Janeway. The thought almost makes me gag. “She was indeed,” I say, smiling.

“That’s exactly what I told myself then – Chakotay is just showing her who’s the boss. Might have inspired me when I threw Wonica and O’Donnell at her the evening after.”

This time I don’t respond, worried what I’ll do to get that sneer off her face.

Seska’s fingers start to undo my belt, and she slips her hand under the shirt. “Yesterday night we didn’t have much time to get back into our stride, but remember how I used to satisfy your needs?”

I do recall hard and loud sex, the two of us staggering through the corridors of the Val Jean, hands ripping away the clothes, buttocks to bulkheads. For me it was all about having made it through another Cardassian attack, having survived another day. Losing myself between her thighs to forget the deaths and the pain. Now I know what she got out of it: more information for her masters when she got me to recount how I’d eluded them once more.

“What about Culluh?” I say, a little flustered.

“Is he why you aren’t rising to the challenge?” she smirks.

Her nails sear my skin like cold blades. “Hard to when he’s only a few walls away,” I hiss.

She frowns. “Culluh can be stubbornly dense when it comes to recognising that a woman can have brains too. I’ve worked hard to earn his trust, if not quite his bed yet if you want to know.”

Her fingers crawl further down the inside of my boxer shorts. She keeps her eyes on me, waiting, then pouts when nothing happens.

“Not interested anymore Chakotay? Perhaps Janeway does mean something more to you than a single night of pleasure. I can’t see her reciprocating though. She always struck me as an icy queen that one, all rules and no time for fun."

Before I can protest, Janeway staggers into the room, hands held in handcuffs behind her back, the two guards holding her arms.

**###**

“Starfleet! Just in time,” Seska announces in a jovial tone, her hand slithering out of Chakotay’s pants.

“Did I interrupt something?” I ask. My former first officer looks like the proverbial rabbit caught in a phaser scope.

“Chakotay and I were just reminiscing about the olden days. But that’s neither the here and now. You told him the torpedoes won’t work, I believe.”

“That’s true, Seska. You can say goodbye to benefiting from your betrayal.”

Her grin hardens as she walks towards me. “Don’t lecture me about betrayal, Starfleet. What about what you owed me and the rest of your crew? Loyalty is a two-way street and you marched us all into a dead-end when you blasted the Caretaker array.”

Now her Cardassian DNA is reasserting itself, even her smell is different from when she sprung me on Deck 15 with her two stooges. It brings up memories of another Cardassian nemesis that threaten to spill over the dam wall I’ve confined them behind for more than a decade.

“How can you sleep at night, Janeway? How can you look at yourself in the mirror every morning? Every morning of every day for the next seventy-five years, thinking of how you doomed your crew,” she says, and I wonder how this monument of selfishness can be so perceptive of others’ feelings. Is that how she snared Chakotay once more?

She signals to the soldiers at my back. One steps towards Chakotay who has kept very quiet, while the other warps his hand tight around my neck. He pushes down at my handcuffs at the same time until I fear my shoulders will pop. The more I struggle against the Kazon’s hold, the more his grip stiffens.

“To be honest, I couldn’t care less about Voyager.” Seska’s voice reaches me over the thumps of my heart beat in my ears.

“My allegiance is to Maje Culluh, and I will deliver what he wants. So, you are going to fix those torpedoes, or I’ll throw you to my friends. Which would be a pity because you are indeed a pretty thing, Janeway, under the uniform.”

Chakotay says something as my vision narrows, filled with Seska’s face. Heat comes to my eyes and cheeks, then the guard relaxes his grip, and air returns to my lungs in great aching gulps.

The woman cups my jaw in her hand when I regain some semblance of mindfulness. Her fingernail follows my chin, traces my collarbone. She slides one finger under the tank shoulder strap and pushes it gently down my arm, all the while watching my reaction, a rattlesnake ready to pounce on the smallest movement.

I don’t give her the satisfaction to see me squirm, but I know how my skin can betray me, small goose bumps following her touch.

“Let’s make one thing clear,” she says, a smile trailing her lips. “You will make those torpedoes work in time for Culluh’s demonstration.”

I try to spit in her face, but nothing than rage comes out. “Over my dead body, Seska.”

“Tempting, but it wouldn’t be very smart of me to kill you. Beating you up won’t achieve anything either, as much as I enjoyed it last time. Been there, done that, kind of thing.”

She leans forward until her lips are an inch from my ear. “I’m thinking the two of us are going to have some fun instead, while we wait for the big guy,” she tilts her head in Chakotay’s direction, “to find a way to clean up your mess. He always deliver when somebody he’s fond of gets hurt. And he likes you very much, trust me on that one.”

She chuckles. “I can tell.”

A laugh forms in my throat, ready to skew her and her fancy ideas, but a nod from her and the Kazon presses his fingers against my carotids for a few precious seconds, stopping all thoughts.

A sudden rush of warmth races through my body, a feeling I remember all too well. Seska’s scent, the spooned forehead, the man’s hand on my throat and I am back to another time and another place when I learnt that methodical torture is like a well-cut diamond, the many faces reflecting back what you become after only a couple of days.

Weak. Pitiful. Stiffening under the pleasure and hungry for more when it is withdrawn.

Seska grin widens. How can she know the cravings for what I went through as a naïve young Ensign in the skilled hands of her people are still there, barely controlled over all those years by a veneer of willpower?

The man behind me opens his hand just enough for me to breathe, and once more my body stutters back to life. Seska’s fingers track their way down and find my chest. I jerk backwards, trying in vain to avoid her touch, even as I seek it, want it so badly.

“Seska.” Chakotay’s voice again. My first officer does protest too much, methinks. Seska can’t be more wrong. I mean nothing to him. The only sad thing is that she’ll consume him before spitting him out.

“Shhh, Chakotay. Unless you prefer my two Kazon friends here to take over. I don’t mind watching. The question is, do you?”

She turns her head to scrutinise his response. His mouth is a hard line, but he says nothing. Only then do I realise the other Kazon guard has his phaser drawn, watching him.

I don’t understand the little power game Seska and he are playing. Is it for my benefit? For the Kazon in the room? Should I care?

Seska’s attention switches back to me. She bundles the fabric of my tank and lifts it under my chin. My Starfleet-issued bra is soon gone the same way, leaving my breasts exposed to the warm air. I am more naked in my half-dressed body than in that dreaded shower cubicle on Voyager.

I can’t stand to look at her.

Chakotay’s gaze latches onto me. I wait for him to smirk and make stupid crude noises like the two guards at the show Seska is putting on.

He doesn’t blink, as if keeping hold of me from across the room. I am the one who lowers my eyes. He’ll soon realise who the real me is, the woman who gets off breathless and mindless.

Seska dips the tip of a finger in the grove between my breasts and smears the warm sweat on my nipples, making me gasp. She blows air on them until they harden in the coolness of her breath. The coarse sensation sends a small jolt through me. She’s got a smirk plastered across her face when she catches me peering back at her.

The guard’s hand digs into my neck again, squeezing muscles and blood vessels. I hear Chakotay shout this time, can’t make up what he says. A thud, metal against flesh, and his voice disappears, leaving me bereft.

I strain to see what has happened to him, equally worried and relieved that maybe he can’t see me, but my body no longer responds to me. Seska hovers close, hijacking my thoughts.

“I’ve got a backup plan of course. Didn’t talk to Chakotay about it, but I'll tell you. A little incentive, if you want.”

I don't know what she's talking about. My legs turn to jelly and I slump, too weak to stand and too light-headed to think straight. The Kazon forces a knee between my thighs and hitches my body up, leaving me open like a Risa sex doll. I am trapped between his hardening erection in the small of my back and Seska’s hand slinking past the fastening of my pants. Something wet starts pooling between my legs while my heart beats a rampaging tempo.

“See, weeks ago I assumed Voyager would be back to the Alpha quadrant quickly with Chakotay as captain. So, I installed a network of disruptors to disable the ship from the inside in case the first patrol we met was from Cardassia.”

I believe her. We searched Voyager from cargo bay to the bridge for anything she’d left behind but she’s already shown she’s got plenty of tricks up her sleeve.

Her fingers slide up between my legs, curling against the ridges of my entrance. Her eyes are boring into me like those of the Cardassian of my past, watching, smiling. My head swims, the lack of air competing for my fading awareness with the churning sensations invading my body. I can’t pull away.

“If Culluh goes after Voyager, a signal from me, and your ship will be left as wide open as you are right now.”

Her words are taking way too long to thread through my oxygen-deprived brain for me to react to their gist.

“Don't know what he'll do with the crew, but he won't be too thankful, that's for sure. So, don't make another mistake and condemn them once again to a lonely fate.”

She finds her rhythm, using the man’s thrusts against the small of my back to force herself deeper inside me. I am slick with arousal, with only one thought left in my mind -- next time we meet, she’s dead, quartered, destroyed like the vermin she is. And then I see Voyager brought to a halt, the Kazon flooding its decks.

A small shudder passes through me, and Seska laughs. I come again when she rams another finger and the man behind squeezes my last breaths out. A third time and I can’t stop the waves of pleasure racing through me, lifting me to heights I’ve denied my body for too long.

All I can hear is the roar of my strangled moans until her leer melts and I spin into the darkness.

**###**

Janeway’s skin has turned a sickly shade of blue against the Kazon's hand, her head tipped backwards. Only the tremors shaking her body tell me she’s still alive.

“Stop it, for spirits’ sake. You’re killing her,” I cough, breathing hard. The Kazon covering me is watching the spectacle, his phaser down. He doesn't hit me this time when I raise myself from the floor.

“Start talking.” Seska focuses on me slowly, her eyes lidded.

“We could slave the torpedoes to the shuttles’ computers,” I let out, the words stumbling out fast. “Re-rout the comms and navigation to their consoles, and go from there. We’ll need Janeway to check it all out.”

Once again, I’ve turned against the captain. She won’t see it any other way.

“The shuttles. Very clever. I knew you would come up with the goods,” Seska says with a smile on her lips.

Before I can reach her, she thrusts a couple more times into Janeway whose body jerks under the assault. When Seska’s fingers slide out of Janeway’s pants, there is blood on her hand and I want to vomit.

“Leave us,” the woman says to the guards.

“You said we could have her,” the man barks, still holding his victim by the neck.

She looks at me, as if it is my decision. And in a sense, it is. Every choice I’ve made, every split of the road I’ve taken since landing on Voyager's bridge has pushed Janeway to a point of no return where even the offer of her life might not be enough to satisfy the Fates who circle her.

“No,” I warn.

Seska nods. “I said leave us. Now.”

The guard opens his hand, and Janeway crumples on the hard deck, unconscious. “When he comes back, I’ll tell Culluh what has happened,” the guard growls.

The two Kazon depart muttering between themselves. Seska bends over and wipes her hand on Janeway’s pants. “Tell me more,” she says.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The undercurrent for the main scene comes from MiaCooper’s story ‘Required To Bear’ at http://archiveofourown.org/works/11916837/chapters/26929344 , from the Counterpoint Collection.


	5. Of Necessity

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For purpledog, hoping she'll feel better.

* * *

  

“I’ll do it myself.”

I snatch the dermal regenerator Chakotay has been holding over my wrists. Somebody – him I assume – has pushed my bra and top back down my chest, and undone the handcuffs, leaving a string of red welts behind.

“She would have thrown you to the guards. I couldn’t let—”

“Get out!”

I don’t want pity. I don’t need it. Not from him. Not from anybody.

His jaw muscles twitch, then he walks off without saying another word and stands just outside the open door, his back to me. The guards are nowhere to be seen, and neither is Seska.

_She’s whispering something in my ear, something important, urgent, but the words ebb away._

I push myself up against the nearest torpedo case. A deep ache is radiating from between my thighs and I let the trousers slide down to my ankles. The panties drop, half-drenched in blood.

“For all it’s worth, I’m not sorry,” Chakotay throws over his shoulder. He is leaning against the doorway, the lighted corridor framing his powerful silhouette.

The words cut through the fog in my brain. How could I have ever been so naïve, so stupid to think of him as anything but a weasel of a man. He probably had his hand down his pants while Seska…

_All I hear is my gaoler’s question, always the same. ‘What are Captain Paris’ orders, little Ensign? Tell me and I'll stop.’_

I tug at my boots, step out of the trousers and hurl the soaked panties as far away as possible. I don’t know what I should be doing with the regenerator. At the end, I just waive it over my lower abdomen a few times hoping it will repair the damage Seska caused when…

_‘Unless you prefer me to continue. Because you like what I’m doing to you, don't you?’_

The pain ebbs away and threatens to leave me without an anchor. What is left to fight against? The torpedoes are useless to Culluh, and Chakotay has obviously found his calling. I’ve done what I could. Today is a good day to die, as the Klingons put it. A pity I can’t take Seska with me, and …

_Lies drip from the Cardassian’s hard-lined mouth. I tell myself that I won’t listen. That I won’t yield. But as breathing feels like a forgotten habit, my body twists and shudders under a never-ending swell of pleasure, making a mockery of my resolve._

I put my pants back on, covering the blood smearing my thighs. Nothing has leaked through the tough fabric, leaving no outside indication that anything has happened.

Fine.

The boots are next, then I tuck the tank top back in. Chakotay is watching me, and I don’t care what he’s seen, or heard, or witnessed. I don’t care that he saw me revel…

I’m fine.

**###**

I wait until Janeway's dressed before stepping back into the room. Her colour has come back, putting some pink on the cheeks, but her eyes are dark, her breathing heavy. I say again that I won’t apologise for bowing before Seska’s threats, but I don't think she hears me.

What I am most sorry for is left stranded between us. The way she pushes the errant hair back into her bun and stands rigidly in front of me clearly states that I’ll lose any chance of reaching her if I speak of what happened.

So, I reveal what I’ve told Seska instead, throwing all caution to the wind because the Kazon guards and Seska will be back soon. I need to convince Janeway that giving Culluh what he wants is the only way for her to live a bit longer. That she must choose necessity against a foe with no moral compass.

“No.”

Can the woman ever say another word when I try to get something through to her? It is ironic we can talk more freely surrounded by Kazon than we could on Voyager, but her mind is set, her thinking as inflexible as ever when it comes to the damn torpedoes.

“Kathryn, you —”

“Don’t ‘Kathryn’ me.”

I close in on her. She's got nowhere to go, fenced in by the ever-present Starfleet weapons.

“When I agreed to become your second-in-command, you asked me to tell you when you’d gone too far. That was to be my job above all others as your first officer.”

“My first officer? Remind me who that is.” She could freeze deep space with that voice.

“I’m sure Cavit would have done a much better job in this situation.” I snap. “He was the perfect Starfleet officer according to his file, following orders to the letter, and could probably recite protocols backward in his sleep. Well on his way to become another perfect Starfleet captain if only Voyager had stayed in the Alpha quadrant.”

Her glare is murderous.

“Well, hear me, Captain. We are not in the Alpha quadrant. The rules have changed. If we're going to survive out here, you have to start changing too and compromise your lofty principles.”

She stands her ground, her chest heaving from frustration. Or anger. Or both. All I care about is to breach her walls, so she’ll listen to reason.

I go for the kill. “Because Seska is right. How can you wake up every morn—”

She hits me. A hard, no-prisoner-taken short hook which resonates through my jaw.

“Get lost,” she throws at me as if I'm a rabid dog.

I can work with anger. It’s an old friend of mine after all, and I recognise all the signs in the deep lines of her face and her blazing eyes.

“I won’t leave. I will stand here until you answer this. Does the fate of Voyager’s crew mean so little that you would sacrifice them too?”

Her back foot shifts for a repeat jab. I grab her fist, twist her arm behind her back and push her against the torpedo case, chest first. I could easily break her wrist, and she knows it. Only a flaring of the nostrils tells me exactly what she thinks of me.

This close, I can see the dark bruises on her neck from the Kazon’s fingers. She’s taken so much punishment and yet she will not seek another path.

She tries to free her left arm. I grab it too and hold both wrists in my hand, locking my legs against hers. “Let. Me. Go,” she hisses, struggling to free herself.

I lean close to her face. “You will let the crew die for what you think is right, condemn them to oblivion. And for what? A clean conscience? Starfleet’s thanks from seventy-five thousand light years away?”

“What are you talking about?” She’s stopped fighting me, but her body is coiled tight like a wire. If my hand slips, there’s a good chance my groin will regret it.

“You gave Tuvok the order to self-destruct the ship if attacked by the Kazon, didn’t you? Anything to uphold Starfleet beloved protocols and protect its precious technology.”

“I never did such a thing,” she says, twisting her neck to look at me. “The Starfleet weapons are my responsibility only. I let them fall...”

She bites her lower lip as if to stop herself saying something she’ll regret. I feel the tension in her arms loosen up. Carefully, I release my grip and take a step back as she turns around.

Her eyes lock onto mine. “A couple of days after Seska contacted you, Neelix heard about a race called the Trabe who’ve been fighting the Kazon for decades. My orders to Tuvok were to investigate the Trabe as a potential ally. I also told him to put the ship back on course to the Alpha quadrant if he didn’t hear from either of us within a week.”

Her protestations have a ring of truth. I’ve taken to my role of traitor too well, imagined deception when there was none, and allowed my own anger to overrule my brain. “I am sorry. I really thought...” It is my turn now to bite my words.

She rubs her wrists with brusque movements. “Since when do you care about Voyager anyway? You abandoned everything we stand for the moment you put a foot on this ship. Culluh, Seska, you. You are made for each other.”

_So, it’s my turn now._

_“_ I had to get back on their good side to figure out what the Kazon were up to. What did you expect me to do? Play the ingénu all along?”

“The part of the Maquis defector sure seems to have grown on you very quickly once you left Voyager behind,” she pitches back.

Spirits. I knew from the beginning of our plan-plotting that we ran the risk of not seeing our ship ever again, but I never imagined the experience would throw us at each other’s throat, the false words passing our lips taken literally, and our actions providing fodder to our worst suspicions.

“It’s just that—an act. I never intended to deceive you.” I feel myself go red. “I mean, not since…”

When it is all said and done, Janeway has got good grounds to not trust me, but right now, I must find a common cause we can work towards.

Or against.

“Seska is pitting us against each other,” I plead. “Cardassians are good at exploiting weaknesses. I've seen them do it too often."

Her glare returns. “You know nothing of Cardassian—”.

And then her face changes, her features melting into ashen dread so suddenly I take hold of her arm, fearing she’s going to collapse.

“Seska...” she whispers.

Her hand finds my chest as if her sense of balance has shifted in a matter of mere seconds. “She’s booby-trapped Voyager, Chakotay. When I was… “

She clenches her fingers into a fist pressed tight against my jacket.

“She told me she deployed disruptors on the ship before she escaped. That she’ll activate them if the Kazon ship gets in range.”

Her blue eyes are almost feverish. “If you care about the crew, Chakotay, you’ll need to be the one to warn Tuvok.”

“And you?” I exclaim.

“There are too many things that could go wrong with your plan to use the shuttles as decoys. Culluh is unpredictable and Seska is no fool. I’ve got to destroy the torpedoes once and for all,” she says, her voice laced with frustration. “I am your captain, Commander. If it still means something to you, you will obey my orders. Escape this mad ship and make a run for it.”

One step forward, two steps back, and we haven’t gone anywhere, exhausting ourselves in the process. “I can’t. Not yet. I’ve got something that Seska wants. I don’t know what it is, but if I find out, I can turn it against her.”

She gives me a dubious look but before I can argue, Kazon soldiers approach the weapon hold, talking loudly to each other. Seska and Culluh are five minutes away, and their maje is not happy according to the exchange we can hear. He must have been told of the trouble with the torpedoes.

I tear myself away from Janeway before the Kazon notice us.

 _Trust me_ , I trace with the tip of my boot on the floor stained with her copper blood. I add an oval and two straight lines at one end. Janeway stares at Voyager’s rough outline.

“Seska is a loyal member of the Nistrim clan. You would do well to remember that,” I say aloud, wiping the scratches I’ve just made.

“And she trusts you?” Janeway asks, raising her chin.

“As much as I trust her,” I nod forcefully.

Janeway tilts her head with a small smile, and I begin to hope.

**###**

 

A soldier manacles my wrists, not wanting to take any risk while the Maje is here. Once again, Culluh takes no notice of me, directing his ire at Chakotay who insists that he can make it work. Seska paces between the three of us, sending me pointed scowls every time she strides past.

I ignore her. My job is to help Chakotay get word to Voyager about the disruptors.

A faint tremor travels through my boots, then fades away.

Patiently, Chakotay is reigning in Culluh’s anger. “Using Federation technology against a Federation target would send a strong message to the other Kazon tribes. By blowing up the shuttles, you’ll be protecting Kazon territory from alien invaders and showing their technology can easily be defeated, but only by one as powerful as you.”

“Maje Culluh determines what he decides to do, and when,” Seska interjects.

I refrain a snort. Chakotay is handling Culluh too well for her liking. He is staging a sleight of hand as he explains to the Kazon man, a conjuring trick to use the shuttles both as targets and guidance systems. It is not what I want, as it plays into Culluh’s grandiose ideas, but it is a clever way to destroy the only means that would make the remaining torpedoes fly true.

I half-expect Seska to point out the obvious but she does not say a word.

Chakotay is right. She needs him, but I can’t believe her behaviour is due to sentiment. I am pretty sure her heart, if she’s got one, is made of pure titanium. She’s obviously got a hidden agenda for him.

“You convinced me that those torpedoes would work, Seska. I see now that I was mistaken to trust a woman to do a man’s job.” Culluh says in his typical patronising tone.

“Maje, I apologise if my technical knowledge was not up to your ambition.” Seska’s obsequious tone is grating.

“I should never have let a woman dictate terms to me.”

“Far from me for dictating terms to my Maje. I was impetuous, eager to see you get what you so rightly deserve.”

Do I detect an innuendo? More a desperate attempt to redeem herself.

“Be quiet, woman.” Culluh turns his back to her. “The tribes will soon realise the other Starfleet weapons are unusable,” he argues.

“Then use them for maximum effect. It’s not like you can build more of them,” Chakotay goes on. “I’ve seen the manifests for the ones you’ve already got. There are too many high-end alloys to manufacture, even with a Federation replicator.”

No great news there, but I am thankful Chakotay has confirmed my suspicions. If I can destroy the remaining torpedoes and he warns Voyager, the crew will have a good chance to escape unscathed and there’ll be no stain attached to the ship and its new captain.

If…

The torpedo behind me wobbles on its support. Seska’s head jerks up. She signals to one of the guards who runs off.

Culluh is glowering. “What do you propose then, Maquis?”

“Fear, Maje Culluh. Fear is a strong deterrent to any questioning.” Chakotay’s face is hard, his tattoo making him look positively feral. The little butterfly in my stomach is back, but not unwelcome this time.

“Put Janeway on one of the shuttles. I’ll program a few fancy maneuvers in its navigation system. With the torpedo guided by the shuttle cons, it can’t miss. The other tribes will only see how Maje Culluh of the Kazon-Nistrim deals with those who dare oppose him,” he continues.

_What? Trust me, he said…_

“Killing a woman is hardly going to satisfy the other majes,” Culluh exclaims.

_Could somebody just shut him up?_

The soldier is back and whispers in Seska’s ear.

“Speak up, man,” Culluh says in a fit of temper.

“A Federation small craft is dogging us, Maje, hitting us with a low-yield gravity shockwave before going back to warp. So far, we haven’t been able to shoot back.”

Seska comes up right in my face. “What have you done, Janeway? How have they found us?”

“I embedded a tracer in the hull of all the shuttles after you left. Just in case another one was stolen. Seems I was right to be cautious.”

It’s hardly an explanation but at this stage spreading more confusion can’t be a bad thing. I have no idea who is in the shuttle that’s pursuing us. It’d better not be Tuvok or I’ll demote him down to ensign.

If I get to see him again.

Chakotay intervenes. “It’s a Maquis trick, Maje. Whoever is at the helm wants to talk to you without risking a fight with a powerful ship like yours.”

Seska frowns. “If a Federation shuttle is here, Voyager can’t be far behind. Culluh, you must—"

The Kazon draws himself to his full height. “Your usefulness has just about reached its limits, Seska. If you want to serve your Maje, go and prepare the shuttles for the demonstration. Take the Federation woman with you. Chakotay, you’re with me.”

The look on Seska’s face is priceless.

 

 


	6. Mirror

“Chakotay! Long time no see. When we learned you’d jumped ship, we thought we would come and join you.”

Wonica’s large grin shows up on the screen of the Kazon bridge. O’Donnell is sitting beside him with his usual stern look.

“What the …?”

The two guys almost made wall paint out of me when I ‘escaped’ and now they want to defect to the Kazon? Which side are they on exactly? The Maquis-cum-traitor, or Voyager’s first officer on an undercover mission? The turns and backflips of the past few days are giving me a massive headache.

“We’ve had enough of Starfleet. You assigned us to repair Voyager’s wastewater system and that was fair, but Janeway, she forced us to get into the pipes and clean them from the inside while she watched. We are rebel fighters, not muck scrubbers.”

That’s not what Torres told me happened on Deck 15 when she visited me in the brig. She had not come to berate me as much as to tell me Janeway had the respect and support of everybody on the ship, her former Maquis attackers included. I fear what B’Elanna thinks of me.

O’Donnell must have sensed I need more persuading, and takes the comms. “Voyager is yours, Captain. There were quite a few people who were not happy about what happened to you and we decided to rectify the situation. Paris has taken over the bridge, and Tuvok says hi."

_Paris in charge? Tuvok says hi?_

Spirits, they are trying to pull a double bluff. It would be funny if so much didn’t hang in the balance. I’ve got to trust those two know what they’re doing because there might lie the only solution to my multi-headed dilemma: get Janeway off the Kazon ship, keep Seska off my back and Culluh out of the picture. Simple really.

“Who are those men and what are they talking about?” Culluh barks, arms crossed on the chest. He is not too happy to be left in the dark. I find myself almost sympathising with him.

“It seems that the Maquis have re-taken Voyager, Maje,” I say with a smile.

**###**

Using my shoulder as a battering ram, I slam Seska against the shuttle hull. Her grip slips off my handcuffs and I dive for the Kazon phaser rifle she’s been holding at my back.

“Just the pretext I need,” she hisses, snatching the weapon out of my reach.

The rifle butt connects with my lower ribs, leaving me gasping and staggering backwards. She swings the phaser around, a wild grin on her face. Before she can take a pot shot at me, I drop on my hands and using them as a pivot I swipe at her legs. Not the most elegant move, but the sound of her body crumpling on the shuttle deck is very satisfying.

This time I don’t try for the phaser. Bringing my hands together into a fist, I punch her nose with a blow from the side. We both collapse winded on either side of the small cargo bay. I am the first one to recover, and Seska finds herself looking at the wrong end of the phaser.

“One scream, one wrong move, and I swear I’ll kill you.” The chain between the manacles is too short for me to hold the phaser rifle correctly. I prop its muzzle on my knee, while my index finger caresses the trigger. My body feels like I’ve battled a wild targ.

Seska pushes herself against the deck and slowly sits up, keeping an eye on me. “You fight well, Janeway. Didn’t think you had it in you.” She wipes her mouth and stares at the blood.

“There are many things you don’t know about me. But I’m not here for conversation. Tell me the locations of the disruptors you installed on Voyager.”

She delicately probes her nose with the back of her hand.

“I haven’t got all day, Seska,” I remind her, moving the phaser muzzle level with her head. The hard floor is torture and I shuffle to ease the slow ache that’s sending its fingers inside me.

“Then shoot me, Janeway. Be done with it. Get rid of what I’ve done to you, the humiliation, the shame.” She bends over, still well out of reach of a repeat attack on her face, “and the guilty pleasure.”

She homes in close to the truth, but I can’t let her bring me back there.

“So tempting,” I throw back at her. “But not yet. The disruptors. Now.”

I doubt her death will erase all traces of her deeds. What other booby-traps has she left behind ready to explode in our faces tomorrow or in three years’ time?

She turns her head and blows through her nose. Bits of pink phlegm spatter the deck. It must hurt. At least, I hope it does.

“We seem to be at a standoff,” she says. “If I call for help, the Kazon will come streaming in and you’ll never learn what you really want to know.” “I wouldn’t be so sure the Kazon will rush to the aid of a woman who’s been so publicly dumped by their Maje. In fact, I am betting we’ll be left alone for quite a while.”

I've got to buy Chakotay some time. Voyager is somewhere out there, vulnerable to a threat nobody but the two of us know about.

And Seska.

“There are other ways to use a phaser. I could bore small holes through your leg for example. At this distance, I can’t miss and the noise will be minimal.”

“Not your style, Janeway. I know you, Starfleet protocols on prisoners’ rights and all that.” She shakes her hand idly. “Don’t worry, I’ll give you what you’re after, but first let’s talk...” A broad smile appears on her face, completely out of place. “… about Chakotay. See, I want to have his child,” she says smugly.

“His child?” is all I can utter.

My finger stiffens on the trigger. Ending her life right here, right now, is becoming more attractive by the second.

“A son, to be more specific. And believe me, I would very much prefer not to carry a mongrel in my belly, but as you must have noticed, there aren’t many compatible mates around.”

I overlook her crass words. For Cardassians, family is everything, a rare redeeming trait even if it is mainly to indoctrinate their children into military life and devotion to the empire. But hybrids are not treated kindly by Cardassian society. She must be desperate to go down that path.

“Why Chakotay?” I manage to ask. I can’t help thinking I am making a grave mistake letting her take the lead in our conversation, but there is something mesmerising about the woman’s drive to bend all and everything to her wants.

“I don’t know if I can have a child with a Kazon. I can’t take that risk.”

“And Chakotay is willing to…?” Finishing the sentence is more than I can bear to do.

She does not respond for what seems to be a long time, and there's a softening in her eyes and shoulders. For a fleeting moment, I glimpse not the Cardassian spy, but a young woman with hopes and ambitions which have been torn asunder by circumstances beyond her control. She is utterly alone, and even if her loneliness is of her own making, the feeling must be crushing.

_Maybe I can turn her around, make her see another way—_

“When Chakotay was between my legs,” Seska continues, “I could forget who I was, what I was. We did it rough and hard.”

I feel myself going numb.

She snickers at the disgust that must be painted on my face. “Give me a break. Don’t tell me you don’t like it that way too. You have some experience, the way you melted in my hand.”

I deflect her insult with a forced smile. “So, getting into Chakotay's bed was merely for your own gratification.”

“We rarely made it to the bed, actually. But no, my superiors' orders were very clear that I was to use any tricks below the belt to get into his head. It was a _pleasure_ to obey. We were good together.”

“A tad cheap when your own command orders you to have sex with the enemy.”

“Oh, don’t make the mistake to think you won’t be tempted one day.” She puts her hand on her heart while looking at me with derision. “You’ll find a better excuse of course– ‘I did it for the ship’ sounds so much more dutiful. The only difference is that you’ll be doing it in the shadows because I don’t see the crew ever thanking you for your great sacrifice.”

“I’m sure I’ll never reach your level of expertise in the matter.” My brilliant idea to bring her back to Voyager is fading fast. She’s on the lookout for weaknesses as Chakotay pointed out. I can play the same game.

“Why a child?” I ask. “I never took you as the motherly type.”

The deep frown is back in place, spooned forehead prominent. “Wake up to the real world, Janeway. This is not Exploration 101. One’s got to survive out here. Culluh will want an heir once he becomes Prime Maje. If I can provide him with a son and keep its origin quiet, I’ll be the most powerful woman in the whole Kazon territory instead of a has-been on a Federation ship going nowhere fast.”

My jaw drops. I can’t even hope to comprehend the guile of the woman and her callousness. “I pity you, Seska. Using a child for personal gain is pretty low, even for a Cardassian.”

“Spare me your do-gooder Federation morality,” she snaps. “It doesn’t matter anyway. Chakotay will insist in claiming it as his child, and short of extracting his...”

She stops talking and a smirk lifts the corner of her mouth.

I wave the phaser to remind her who is in charge. After she tells me about the hidden disruptors, we need to get going on the shuttles. I don’t know the details of Chakotay’s plan, but I’ve got to help him as much as I can.

“Chakotay’s simply seen you for who you truly are, Seska. The disruptors. I won’t ask you again.”

She ignores my threat, shaking her head. “I can't believe it. The solution has been staring me in the face all that time. I’ve been too sentimental about Chakotay, that’s my problem.”

“What are you talking about?” I say, exasperated. Maybe Chakotay’s right. Maybe I need to be thinking more like the Maquis. Maybe the end does justify the means.

“Come on, Janeway, you can’t deny he’s got good taste in women. You, me, we’re both smart, tough when it counts, and you are sort of attractive, for a human anyway. When you think about it, we are very similar the two of us.”

She licks her lips. “I must admit, in different circumstances, I could have shared you with him.”

My fingers are hurting from holding the phaser too tightly.

“I'm nothing like you. The—”

“The disruptors, yeah, yeah.”

She uncoils herself like a snake preparing for its final strike. “I'll make a deal with you. I’ll give you the locations of the disruptors in exchange for a sample of your DNA. I’ll even throw in the torpedoes you so want destroyed.”

Totally unfazed by the phaser I am wielding, she leans forward. “A fair arrangement for all concerned -- your future son for the lives of a hundred and forty people. And I’ll help you two escape just for the pleasure of knowing you'll tear yourselves apart. Chakotay will never understand your appetite for sexual self-destruction, or how you could walk away from your own child. You’ll have to live with his loathing for the next few decades.”

For the second time in less than ten minutes, I will myself not to splatter her brain onto the hull.

**###**

Janeway punches instructions into her shuttle console to no avail, as the shuttle lurches violently to avoid its impeding fate. As I’ve planned, she’s got no control over the helm or shields.

“You won’t get away with this, Culluh,” she shouts over the sounds of the engines pushed to their maximum for better effect.

My heart skips a beat as the deadly Starfleet weapon easily avoids the sea of asteroids I’ve chosen for the demonstration, and rips through the shuttle. The explosion is spectacular, bolstered by two more torpedoes crammed in the small cargo bay behind the cabin. When the blast recedes, only unidentifiable debris are left flying away in all directions.

The scene of devastation disappears from my screen and the Kazon bridge replaces it. Seska is running a non-stop commentary for the majes invited to witness Federation’s demise by the Kazon-Nistrim. They whisper among themselves, looking suitably impressed.

Culluh brandishes a bloodied fist at me. “There goes the fate of all who dare rise against me. Fire the second torpedo,” he orders.

Seska’s lips move for my eyes only. “So long, Chakotay.” She smiles before bending over the ship weapon console.

I carefully settle my battered body against the seat and close my eyes. Unlike Kathryn, the urge to fight until the end has left me.

**###**

Two men are hunched over the helm. I recognise them instantly, their large bulks looming in the darkness of the cabin. Friends or foes, though, is the question I ask myself.

“Have you got him?”

“The pattern’s playing up again. What about the captain?”

O'Donnell gives me a quick look. “Ma’am? You’re okay?”

I breathe out, give my thanks to a blocked pipe, then put my hands up. “I'm fine. Get rid of these handcuffs and I'll deal with the transporter.”

The man moves surprisingly quick for somebody that big. I half-expect him to break the handcuff chain with his bare hands, but he reaches for a laser cutter instead. A few seconds later, I relish my freedom from the restraints while I sit at the navigation console.

“Voyager?” I ask while checking the buffer integrity.

“In orbit around a Talaxian mining colony, a day away at warp five,” Wonica answers. I can see he is keeping the asteroid field between us and the Kazon ship.

“Set a course for Voyager, but don't engage the engines yet. I’m reinitialising the rematerialisation subroutine.”

I need Chakotay back. Alive. I haven’t done a deal with the devil to see him decompiled into star dust.

“We’ve got him,” says O’Donnell.

The familiar sound of the transporter dissipates behind me, and I breathe a sigh of relief. “Engage, Wonica.” Only then do I look back, the weight of the past few days lifting off my shoulders.

My joy evaporates instantly. O'Donnell is holding up Chakotay who looks like he’s fought the whole Kazon crew single-handedly. His face is raw, the left eye a mere slit among swollen flesh.

I rush to his side. “Chakotay, what happened?”

He raises his hand to gently brush my cheek. “It’s good to see you,” he slurs through split lips. “Seska told Culluh a few things about me to get me into that shuttle. He wasn’t too happy.”

There is not a scratch on his knuckles and I know he's been beaten without being able to defend himself. Beaten by thugs we've just escaped from by the slimmest of margins.

I look for a medical tricorder while O’Donnell get him to a seat before joining Wonica at the front of the cabin.

Chakotay tucks my messed-up hair behind my ear as I scan him. I don’t think he is even aware of what he is doing.

“When I saw your shuttle explode…” He swallows, and despite his tan and bruises, I can see the blood leave his face as he looks down.

I put my hand on his chin and gently force him to look at me. “I’m here, safe, because of you. Your plan worked.”

His smile is tentative at first, then widens. Wonica and O’Donnell’s voices become white noise over the soothing sound of the engines, the cabin lights dim further, and I am aware of the smell of sharp sweat coming from the man close to me. The tip of my fingers grazes his lips and time slows down to loud heartbeats.

“Captain,” he says softly, and I jerk backwards.

“I hope you won’t make it a habit to blow up shuttles every time we go on an away mission together,” I say as I continue the scan, my eyes firmly focused on the device’s small screen.

He’s got a hairline fracture of the left cheekbone, multiple contusions and abrasions on the face and upper body, but nothing life threatening. I swap the tricorder for a dermal regenerator and move it slowly over his injuries. The bruises fade, and my First Officer’s chiselled features make a comeback.

“I’ll try my hardest,” he says.

I put a hypospray to his neck to relieve the pain. “Or I’ll have to make it an order that we can’t be on the same mission together.”

“Tuvok will appreciate.”

His voice is drowsy. It must be contagious because I find myself yawning, while I put the hypospray away. He’ll need to wait for the EMH to treat his broken cheekbone, and like me, he'll keep the deeper injuries, the ones nobody can see, hidden behind the walls of our commitment to the crew, our promise to get them home whatever the cost.

I slip into the seat next to him. I should ask Wonica and O'Donnell how they happened to pass by and pick us off exploding shuttles, but my eyelids are closing by themselves.

Chakotay puts his arm around me and draws me closer. I am still smiling when I fall asleep, my head nestled against his shoulder.


	7. A plan so cunning

‘ _The end justifies the means. But what if there is never an end? All we have is means.’_

“I have trouble grasping the meaning of this entry in your personal logs, Commander Chakotay. When I put it next to the exchanges you had with the Cardassian traitor after she left Voyager, it makes for very disturbing reading indeed. Would you care to explain yourself?”

“As you’ve noticed, Admiral Nechayev, those logs date from the time Seska contacted me. I wrote them in such a way to gain her trust, entice her to think I was ready to abandon Voyager. It was obvious she could not read the logs I had made before she hacked into my computer, so I played on her hatred of all things Federation.”

My court martial is in its second day and the collar of the new uniform I’m wearing is much too tight. I itch to get rid of it, or is Starfleet that I find too rigid?

Admiral Hayes throws his weight around. “ _All we have is means._ What nonsense. Of course, such drivel makes plenty of sense coming from a Maquis deserter and mutineer.”

Hayes’ distrust of the Maquis seems to have grown since his first message to the captain a little more than three years ago. In the flesh, the man is hardly impressive, but Kathryn’s comment at the time that he was a windbag is dangerously out of date. He is among those who believe the Maquis betrayed the Federation and were the roots of the open conflict with the Cardassians.

“Given her duplicitous mind, Seska would have assumed the same as you do, Admiral,” Kathryn says, her poker face firmly in place.

Quinn gives us an amused look. Of the three admirals in front of me, he is the most tolerant but says very little. It is obvious the bench is stacked against me despite Kathryn's deep-seated confidence I will get a fair trial.

Hayes frowns, but Nechayev thankfully takes the opportunity to suspend the session for a lunch break before he locks swords with Kathryn again. The admiral waits until the two men have left the room before gesturing at my defence counsel to join her.

Kathryn’s hand squeezes my arm. “I’ll come and see you as soon as I can, Chakotay.”

“I’ll be fine,” I whisper to her.

As I am led out the trial room by security, I wonder what Nechayev wants with my wife.

Even though I have great difficulties remembering the man I was then, I never expected to avoid the consequences of my mutiny once we were back in the Alpha quadrant. Kathryn tells me I'll get a rap on the knuckles, a dishonourable discharge at most, but I know better. Starfleet does not forget nor forgive that easily. I’ve told her that, but she doesn't listen.

It’s only Voyager’s triumphant return that has prevented news of my trial from being made public so far. But the respite won’t last. When I am found guilty, her career will be in tatters, her reputation destroyed – the captain who made a traitor her first officer, the woman who married a Maquis. That prospect weighs heavily on my mind even as she says she doesn’t care. Seven years giving my soul and heart to her and I find myself the cause of her fall once again.

**###**

“I would like to talk to you before the start of the proceedings this afternoon. Join me for lunch in my office?”

Coming from Admiral Nechayev, the suggestion has the force of an order. I follow her to the transporter, then into the Admiralty Office building. It is highly irregular for a presiding judge to meet with the defence counsel in private, but I’ve learned since our return to Earth that Nechayev is hardly one to stick to protocol when it does not suit her. My propensity to do the same according to my debriefing panel hasn’t pleased her though, so I brace myself for more lectures about my barbed exchanges with Hayes.

“I won’t beat around the bush, Janeway,” she says, sitting behind the large desk dominating the room. Two trays are already waiting for us. My coming here was expected.

“Admiral Paris told me you are resigning from Starfleet after the court martial. Is that true?”

Annoyance flares in my mind. I haven’t confided in Owen for him to repeat my words to the person who is more than likely to be the one to ruin Chakotay’s name.

“I don’t approve of an organisation who is so intent on condemning my first officer after his impeccable service to Voyager’s crew and proven allegiance to Starfleet during our time in the Delta quadrant.”

She starts on her sandwich. Since Chakotay’s arrest, the unfairness of it all has churned my stomach, and I leave my meal untouched.

“And in all logic, I doubt Starfleet will approve of a captain whose first officer has been deemed guilty of mutiny,” I add.

“Your penchant for putting yourself in untenable positions has certainly not helped your standing in the eyes of some. It follows a pattern of questionable decisions you made as captain. The first one was to offer the position of first officer to a Maquis leader you were sworn to bring back to justice. The second was to marry the man, and, strangely enough, only a few days after we contacted Voyager.”

“You’ve already made your disapproval abundantly clear at my debriefings, Admiral.”

She picks a small bunch of grapes, delicately plucking the small red globes one by one.

“Quite so. And your latest decision to be Chakotay’s defence counsel is not aiding your cause. I mean who on earth thought you were the best person to defend him?”

“I think my husband did, as it is his right under court martial procedures.”

Not that I gave him much of a choice in the matter. I know he wanted to protect me, but the last thing he needed was a lawyer who had never flown past Saturn’s rings taking on the job.

“Sticking to the rules, are we now?”

Before I can think of a repartee, Nechayev waves me off. “I did not ask you here to discuss Chakotay.”

“That is exactly what we are here for, Admiral,” I say, deliberately misconstruing her words. “My first officer is sitting in a holding cell waiting for a fate he does not deserve, decided by admirals whose minds are closed to any insight in the pivotal role he played in keeping a ship and crew together.”

Weeks of debriefings and days preparing for Chakotay’s defence has left me short of temper and sleep, so I let rip with pent up frustration.

“The case against him is outrageous. He has proven himself over seven long years as the best first officer a captain could ever ask for, he has upheld Starfleet principles in several occasions against my own judgement, he has put his own life in danger to save many of my crew, regardless of whether they started out as Maquis or Starfleet. But Hayes can only see him as a Maquis traitor and you agree with him. It’s Seska who betrayed us, not Chakotay.”

“Have you finished?” Nechayev throws the bare grape rachis on the tray. I can’t help thinking the same fate awaits my husband. “Seska,” she continues. “An interesting personality. Both your deposition and that of your first officer on your encounters with her left a lot unsaid. What exactly happened between the three of you?”

“It’s all on record. There’s nothing to add.”

“I’ve sat on enough court martials and debriefings to recognise carefully edited logs when I see them. What was the species called? The Kozin? Kazon. Yes, the Kazon… You manage to get on their ship, thanks to the same Chakotay who allegedly had told you about Seska contacting him, a mere ten days after the end of his mutiny. Together, you destroy all the Starfleet torpedoes the Kazon had built, and effect a daring escape with the help of two crew members who had very nearly left you for dead less than a fortnight before. The Kazon don’t pursue the ship and nothing is heard of that Cardassian woman ever again. The perfect cunning plan, so flawlessly executed it should be taught at the Academy tactical course.”

I put my fingers to my throbbing temple. “Admiral, I don’t see the relevance of this conversation. I have court documents to go through with Chakotay, so if you don’t mind…”

My hands find the arms of the desk chair.

“Indulge me a little longer, Kathryn.”

Maybe it’s her use of my first name which sounds all wrong coming from a woman who presided over my debriefings and now stands to end my husband’s freedom with a snap of her fingers.

I sit back.

“Coffee?”

“Thank you,” I say wearily.

She moves to the replicator niche. “One coffee, black. One Earl Grey tea.”

“I want to make sure your loyalty to your husband does not come at the expense of your allegiance to Starfleet and the Federation,” she says while waiting for the cups to appear. “Your older self tinkering with her own timeline has us worried about a repeat disaster, even if technically you are not her. Yet. Frankly, we don’t know if we can trust you at the moment.”

I bristle under the innuendo. “The debriefings—”

“The debriefings were about you as Voyager’s captain. The decisions you made and the solutions you found when in the direst straits.” She turns around, cups in hand.

“And yes, you made mistakes, but nobody has ever contemplated being on the bridge of a lone starship for seventy-five years with no support for tens of thousands of light-years. Don’t be mistaken by the roasting you received from me. I am impressed by what you did. We all are.”

Her words are news to me. She wrung me dry for weeks on end, forcing me to justify decisions I hardly recall making, about species I have mostly forgotten, in circumstances which by the end of our journey blended into one another at the speed of light. What I do remember is coming back every late evening to the small quarters Chakotay and I had been allocated, and throwing up in the bathroom, his hand drawing small circles on my back.

Nechayev puts the cups on a small table by a large window overlooking the grounds, and invites me to move to one of the deeper chairs across it. As much as the view is soothing, I would much prefer to return to Chakotay’s side.

The Admiral settles opposite me, ankles crossed. “But what you did is in the past. I am looking to the future, Starfleet future. Since the end of the Dominion war, we've been reconsidering the entirety of our operations, our military capabilities, logistics, the space stations, the fleet. Everything has been put under the microscope.”

Owen has told me as much already, but I let Nechayev come to the point while appreciating the coffee. Trust the admiralty to have access to state-of-the-art replicators.

“We are also looking into our people, from recruitment through to training and career advancement, and that’s where you come in. There is a new role waiting for you. What would you say to a Rear Admiral position?”

I almost drop my cup. “Rear Admiral? But I thought…”

“Starfleet needs fresh blood. Business as usual is not possible anymore. We’ve got to be more nimble, faster to react, more daring, but also able to see the much longer term, think over decades, not the next tour of duty or the latest skirmish near the DMZ.”

Her little speech has given me time to recover. “And if I accept, Chakotay walks free? Is this some sort of blackmail?”

“Only a duplicitous mind would consider a promotion to be blackmail, my dear captain.”

Her grin is fleeting. “The Dominion war has left us with many captains who shoot first and think later, and admirals growing old and reflecting on the past. You’ve met two. Hayes is a dinosaur. In his mind, he is still fighting the Maquis rebellion. Quinn is a couple of years short of his retirement, and he is worn-out.”

“There is Admiral Paris, Captain Picard,” I counter.

“Paris is a good man, but there aren’t many in his position as efficient and driven as he is. Picard refuses promotion after promotion and encourages his first officer to follow in his footsteps,” she says with some disgust.

I refrain a smile. Picard’s stubbornness and Riker’s loyalty to his ship and captain are legendary.

“My offer is more than just welcoming another heroic captain to our ranks. You have experience we can't hope to replicate. Eventually, the Borg will be back, not to mention the threat Species 8472 could still pose. When I watched your logs about the Hirogens, the Devore, the Krenim, my skin crawled. We need to ensure those species will not seek us and create alliances with those you befriended. Nobody is better placed than you to oversee this process.”

Her analysis of the problems facing the Federation and Starfleet is right on target in my opinion, but her methods…

“And if I say no? I don’t like blackmail and I certainly don't respond well to bribery, Admiral.”

“Save your death glare for those who are your real enemies, Janeway. If you accept, I’ll put a lot of pressure on my two colleagues to make them change their minds. The future of the Federation will trump any objections they might have.”

She lifts her hand to prevent me from interrupting. “I call my offer a win-win situation. I didn’t choose Hayes and Quinn to sit on the bench with me on a whim. Both are well respected within Starfleet and their opinions still carry a lot of weight. They won’t bow to your pleas but leave them to me and you’ll get what you want. And more.”

I have an inkling of where this one-sided conversation is headed. “Chakotay will get a full pardon, and his commission will be reinstated. If I accept.”

“I can promise as much. We cannot have a Rear Admiral married to a has-been. The deliberations of the court will show without a shadow of a doubt that Chakotay’s Maquis records were expunged on grounds of good character and his impeccable service for the past seven years. What I will say to my colleagues beforehand to convince them will be vigorously denied if it ever comes to light.”

Her statement sends a shiver down my back. “I believe you.”

“Make no mistake, Janeway. Without your consent, my arguments will have much less weight. Of course, Chakotay’s conduct since his mutiny will be taken into consideration.”

She leans back, holding her tea cup daintily. “I imagine that will reduce his prison sentence to five years, give or take a couple of months. Maybe four if Hayes is in a good mood,” Nechayev throws at me like a loaded phaser.

“Prison?” I whisper, my heart beating too hard in my chest.

Five years. I can’t contemplate being separated from him for that long. “He'll be a broken man.”

“Then do we have a deal, Janeway? It is a fair arrangement for all concerned.”

Seska's exact words from a lifetime ago, when Chakotay's future was also in my hands.

**###**

That afternoon, my husband walks out of the court a free man.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 'I have come up with a plan so cunning you could stick a tail on it and call it a weasel.' Black Adder The Third, 1987.
> 
> 'The end justifies the means. But what if there never was an end? All we had was means.' From The Lathe of Heaven, Ursula Le Guin 21 Oct 1929 – 22 Jan 2018.


	8. Epilogue

She faces the mirror, fingering her new insignia. 

“It feels strange not to see the pips on you,” I say, coming behind her. The understated colours of her rear-admiral uniform highlight her pallor and new lipstick.

I straighten the bar on her shirt collar. “You still haven’t told me what happened during that lunch with Nechayev. In just two days, there I am, my commission reinstated, with a captaincy coming my way if I can believe Paris, and we are getting ready to attend a ceremony to celebrate the latest recruit to the admiralty.”

“This isn't a good time," she says.

“I am not sure there will ever be a good time. What’s wrong, Kathryn? Today should be an exciting day for you, but it feels to me like you would prefer to face the Borg than accept your new promotion.”

I start to massage her shoulders, pressing on the knots I can feel through her dress uniform. “What did you say to Nechayev to make her change her mind about me? Did you go in there all guns blazing?” I say in jest. I am curious. More than curious.

She stiffens under my hands.

“Don’t shut me out, Kathryn. I am no longer your first officer, remember?” A joke, a lame one at that. But I know Kathryn. She can look at the Borg and Species 8472 in the eyes, make them bend to her will, but as far as her husband is concerned, I am her Achilles’ heel.

Her eyes shift. “Nechayev heard I was going to resign, so she offered me a deal I couldn’t refuse. Your freedom for the position. I said yes.”

I always knew she had only ever thought about resigning because of me. She is wedded to Starfleet almost as much as she is to me.

“I am not surprised. You are an asset Starfleet can't afford to lose.”

She nods, conceding the fact. “Aren't you bitter, though? The court martial, and now this,” she says, putting her hand on her admiral bar. “They’ve been trampling all over your Maquis past as if it was something vile."

“My Maquis days _are_ in the past. Nobody can’t take them away from me. The good and the bad.”

“I couldn't let you become the sacrificial lamb for what was a mistake.”

_A_ _mistake_. Typical Kathryn’s euphemism for my ill-fated decision to mutiny against her.

“I’ve often wondered if there is an alternate universe when I did trust you completely the first time you offered me the position of first officer. When there was no betrayal, no taking Voyager over. When we were together without my _mistake_ hanging over us like a noose. No hesitation, no over-thinking. Blind trust, pure and simple.”

Kathryn leans against my chest, her hands reaching for mine. “The admiral... My older self… She said there had been no mutiny in her timeline, that ‘her’ Chakotay had stood by her from the start.”

“What else did she tell you?”

“She was manipulating us to get what she wanted foremost. Vengeance on the Borg, a faster journey home, less deaths, Tuvok safe and sound. But she was also hoping to get her Chakotay back in her past life. My future life.”

She lets out an exasperated sigh. “Or whoever lives it would have been. I hate temporal paradoxes.”

I smile and thread my fingers through hers.

“See, in her lifetime, they never married,” she continues. “She could never find a good reason, as she put it, to breach Starfleet protocol against fraternisation. They never told each other of their love, never shared more than a few evening dinners and chaste touches. But their journey was too long. They drifted apart, with her ensconced behind her Starfleet shield, pushing him away until it was too late.”

“She told me some of that story too. She wanted to come to our quarters, but I wasn’t having a bar of it, so we met in the Mess Hall at the end of my last shift before we run into the Borg. Frankly, I think she just wanted to see how much I was _him_. Her Chakotay wasn’t much different from me, had the same weaknesses. You of course, but also his fear of ageing like my father, his anger when Seska announced she had borne him a child.”

“Seska,” Kathryn drops that name with as much as venom as she can muster.

“It seems the two Seskas were very much the same in both timelines. Conniving, treacherous and dangerous. But the child was Culluh’s son all along and their Seska died after Voyager was boarded over by the Kazon then retaken by us. Them, I mean.”

“Seska did say you would never leave your child behind. I am glad you didn’t have to make that choice.”

When we returned to Voyager, we sat down together to write in our official logs what had happened during our sojourn on the Kazon ship. Kathryn talked about her decision to compromise over the Starfleet torpedoes, so Voyager was freed from Kazon attention. What she did not discuss was what Seska had done to her and the deal she’d been offered. Neither had she included her role in getting me off the Kazon ship by playing on Seska’s relentless need to eliminate all competition and her deep-seated and twisted desire to take her revenge on the both of us.

As we left Kazon territory, we caught snippets of continuing inter-clan wars, so it looks likely that Culluh’s ambition of leading his people never eventuated. And we never heard of Seska again.

She had been wrong to assume Kathryn and I would be at each other’s throats. We spent many evenings healing the wounds we carried. She knew most of mine and I learned hers - her time in a Cardassian prison and their favourite torture methods, her father and fiancé’s deaths, all those things her records did not show. Our trust deepened, born from the crucible of a traitor’s actions. Out of the ashes, our love bloomed, and our evenings together turned into nights of exploration and discovery.

“Would you have abandoned your child if Seska had got hold of your DNA?” I ask, bringing my hands to rest over her belly.

“Combining our DNAs would only have resulted in daughters. It’s not what she wanted. She needed a boy. That’s why I used the shuttle med kit to test that the Cardassian genetic makeup was compatible with the Kazon’s. I showed her she could have a son with Culluh with minimal genetic manipulation.”

I am not after a scientific rational explanation, so I wait.

“But I don’t know, Chakotay. I sincerely don’t know. I had to think quickly. I knew my responsibilities were to Voyager’s crew, but the thought my daughter would be raised by a Cardassian on a Kazon ship filled me with dread. I could not bear the consequences.”

Her eyes are glistening in the mirror.

“Seska had raped you once already, and taking your DNA to impregnate herself would have been another rape attempt. You would have been in your rights to feel no obligation towards a child conceived in such terrible circumstances.”

“She would have been born innocent of her parents’ deeds. What person would I be now if I had forsaken my own child?”

That is the answer I was expecting all along from my wife. “That past never came to be, Kathryn. You chose a different path and it gave us our future.”

She puts her hands on top of mine, smiling. We stay silent, savouring the moment, and I feel her relax at last.

The computer chime reminds us it’s time we join the outside world.

“Did you tell Nechayev?” I ask, not letting Kathryn go yet.

A look of pure candour meets my gaze. “I made my last executive decision as captain during our conversation. I decided she didn’t need to know.”

“What about the Doctor?”

“The Doctor has learnt from B’Elanna how to protect his records from unwanted attention. There is no way Starfleet Medical will know I am pregnant until we are ready to tell them.”

My chest rumbles against her back until she turns around, frowning. “By the way, Mister, did you call me an asset?”

 


End file.
